What a girl wants
by Out of Options
Summary: Lizzie Stark has loved Tommy Shelby since she was a child but no matter how much she gives him it never seems to be quite enough. It may develop into more but for now this is just going to be some short snapshots of Lizzie Stark's life in the Birmingham underworld. Rated T because it involves the Shelbys. I wish I could say that the Peaky Blinders were mine but sadly they aren't.
1. Chapter 1

Rated M because it involves the Shelbys!

* * *

Small Heath, 1907 - 1908

Lizzie Starke was 13 when she first realised that she was in love with Tommy Shelby. Tommy was a few years older than her and had started to run about with his elder brother Arthur doing jobs for the Birmingham Boys. Arthur Shelby was already dangerous. He was reputed to have taken down a brewer's dray with a single punch and Lizzie felt a little shiver of fear run down her spine whenever he looked in her direction. Tommy was different. He wasn't dangerous, not really, not yet. He was a bit of a dreamer really, a deep thinker. He loved to take her to lie down in the long grass by the rec and tell her his plans for the future. One day he would join the army, another day he would seek his fortune in Australia or America. Whatever he did Lizzie knew it would be big and exciting and she hoped she would be with him when it happened.

She lost her virginity to him under a bridge down by the cut when she was 14. He was more experienced than her but probably not by much. Lizzie wasn't entirely sure what she'd been expecting from sex but she knew that her first time was better than what her parents did since it involved neither fists nor screaming. Instead Tommy had made her tingle all over in a way that she was very keen to repeat. Over the summer she met up with him regularly enjoying the warmth of his body and the look that he got in his eyes when he was inside her. She felt a greater sense of security and well-being in the times that they were together than she'd ever had with her family.

That autumn two big events had taken place in Lizzie's life and neither of them had been good. Firstly, her broken down mother had finally died of the drink - or at least that was the story that was put about - and secondly Lizzie had found out that she was in the family way. Without her mother there to take the blows, her father had dealt with the situation in the only way he knew how – by beating the child out of her. The violence of it had nearly killed her and when she was whole again her father had coldly told her that since she was happy enough to play the whore then she might as well supplement the family's pitiful income by taking money for it. What appeared to upset him most was that he'd lost the opportunity to charge someone extra to take her virginity.

There would be no more pleasant interludes with Tommy Shelby – not unless he paid.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Small Heath, 1909 - 1910

Word travelled quickly around the densely populated back streets of Small Heath and there was no way that you could keep something like your daughter going for a whore secret for long. Not that Lizzie's Da minded all that much. At least men would know where to come and find her when they wanted business, he reasoned.

Lizzie, however, minded very much indeed. She hated being a whore. She hated being a Stark. She even hated the mere fact of being alive. Sometimes she wanted nothing more than to get a skinful of gin and follow her mother into the cut but there were the younger kids to think of now and she couldn't abandon them. Her little sister was only nine and now her father had got a taste for pimping she was terrified that he would look to her next if the family's income needed a further boost. All those silly dreams she'd had of running off with Tommy and seeing the world were now only so much dust and ash in her mouth.

She couldn't bear for Tommy to see her now so whilst he hung out with his father and brothers at The Garrison pub she took her skinny arse off round the back of Rackham's in the city centre where she could work all night and never risk bumping in to him. At first when she'd been with a man she'd tried to pretend that it was Tommy inside her but it left her with a bitter taste in her mouth and a guilty feeling in her stomach like she was poisoning something good. Now she simply went to the little dead place in her chest where her heart had used to be.

Tommy she just watched from a distance; she horded every precious scrap of gossip she heard about him and his activities as if they were gold. Tommy was definitely toughening up. His father and eldest brother had begun to carve out a criminal empire of their own in the small gaps left by already established gangs and Tommy was working for them full time. It was mostly small scale stuff centred around handling stolen goods and running bare knuckle boxing matches but they were beginning to make a name for themselves. An aura of violence hung over the Shelby family now. People gave them space wherever they went. There was always a free drink for them, or a free meal or, in the case of Arthur Snr, a free whore.

Lizzie hated being called on by Arthur Snr. He was a vicious bastard and he always left her with bruises all over her thin body. On one occasion he had even cut her - just because he could - using a razor blade which he'd had sewn into the brim of his cap. She found it hard to believe that he could be the father of a loving boy like Tommy. Of course her own father had done bugger all about it. All that mattered to him was keeping in with an up and coming man like Arthur Snr.

Tommy had tried to call on her once at the beginning. For old time's sake the note had said rather than for business but she'd refused to see him; she was dirty now. Tommy had walked away without a backward glance. A few years later she had heard that he had taken up with a pretty little Italian piece by the name of Greta Jurossi. That had hurt worse than any man's fists.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Small Heath, 1914

The war years were hard for everyone. It had been worst for the men who had been sent overseas to fight and die up to their knees in mud and blood of course but it had also been difficult for the women who had been left behind to care for their families in the slums of Small Heath. Lizzie Stark had been no exception.

At the outbreak of war Lizzie had joined many of the other local women at the BSA factory on Armory Street which had been given over to producing Lee Enfield rifles. The days had been long and the work exacting but it had been satisfying to know that she was helping the war effort. It had also been good to have an income which didn't derive from being on her back. Unfortunately it had not lasted long. The other women had objected vociferously to working alongside a former whore and eventually they had driven her out in a hail of stones and filth. Since her father had long since run off with another woman Lizzie was the only source of income the family had. She had therefore been forced to go back on to the streets.

Not long after her abortive attempt to find honest work Lizzie had heard that Greta Jurossi had fallen dangerously ill with consumption. In the close confines of the Birmingham slums highly contagious diseases like TB raged like wildfire carrying off almost all who succumbed to infection. The only choice most of the Small Heath poor had was whether they would die at home or in a sanatorium. Since free sanatoria were run on the same basis as other forms of poor relief they were essentially prisons for the dying and no one went in to one if they had any other choice.

Greta had a choice; she had a family and she had Tommy. Stories of Tommy's utter devotion to his lover had spread through the area almost as rapidly as the disease that was killing her. He barely left her bedside for the three long months which it took her to die. Lizzie hated that she felt jealous of a dying woman but the idea that someone could inspire that level of love in the man who had found it so easy to walked away from her was agony. As an act of penance she had collected every spare penny she could and purchased every cure available in Birmingham. She'd had them delivered to the Jurossi family anonymously in the hopes that they would provide some kind of recovery but it was not to be.

Devastated by grief Tommy had signed up for the front immediately and taken his two eldest brothers along with him. Lizzie had gone, well muffled, to see him off – one last chance to see the man she loved. In amongst all the crowds and cheering she had not been spotted. She knew that it was probably for the best.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Small Heath, 1918

Lizzie had been doing a roaring trade since the end of the war. Old soldiers - either broken in mind or body, or full of rage and self-hatred - were desperately in need of the kind of comfort that only an understanding woman could provide and Lizzie was known to be very, very understanding. The problem was that half of those in Small Heath who needed her services hadn't a pot to piss in. Still, holding a sobbing man scarcely counted as hard work so there were a few she took in for free - her 'charity work' she called it like she was a proper lady. Her brother and sister were old enough to work now so they could make up for some of the income it cost her.

Danny Whizz-Bang was one of her regulars – or what was left of him at any rate. His missus had come to her for help directly, the poor little bitch. She'd been scared to have him in the house with the babbies, scared to let him touch her. Between Lizzie's thighs he'd found a little bit of calm, not enough to make him whole again but sufficient for his wife to have him back so long as Lizzie saw to him regular. It was when she was letting him out after their usual session that she ran slap bang into Tommy Shelby.

Time slowed so that she felt like she was wading in treacle. She felt sick. Tommy stared at her as if she was a stranger. Completely oblivious, Danny had greeted his old sergeant major heartily, slapping him roughly on the back and commending Lizzie to him as a truly excellent whore.

'If you've got an itch to scratch, sarge, then you could do a lot worse than our Lizzie here,' he said contentedly. 'She'll give you the ride of your life!'

Tommy looked her up and down coldly and shame flamed at her cheeks.

'Been a long time, Tommy', she said stiffly. He nodded in response not taking his eyes from her. Smile fading Whizz-Bang made himself scarce.

5 minutes later Tommy was in her house in the small back room she used for business. He sat in the chair next to the bed and watched her intently. She poured them both a large measure of gin.

'Stay here whilst I go and clean up', she said shakily downing her glass in one.

When she came back in to the room she found him stood up and stripped down to his long-johns, the rest of his clothes folded neatly on the chair behind him. The first thing she noticed was that he had filled out. He was no longer the gawky adolescent that she had first lain with, he was a man grown. He had a tattoo as well, the rays of a rising sun over his heart. Closing the distance between them she gently laid her hand on his chest – splayed fingers covered the markings. She could feel the frantic beating of his heart beneath her fingertips.

There was no need of words between them. She knew his body as intimately as her own and she knew the eyes of a man with shell shock almost as well. She took him in her arms and then used every trick she knew to bring him the release that he needed.

When he was ready to leave he carefully counted out her fee. She tried to waive it away but he insisted. After he had gone she cried herself to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Small Heath, Autumn 1919

Lizzy loved The Marquis of Lorne. Since the landlord was a friend she got her drinks on the cheap and she never got any hassle – all it cost her was a hand job every once in a while. It was always her first stop when she was heading out to work; a few gins settled her stomach and took the edge off what she knew she would have to do that night. The best thing about it though was that, although the place was protected by the Peaky Blinders, they seldom ever came there in the evening which meant that she never bumped in to Tommy when she was working.

Tommy was a hard one to read. She'd done everything she could over the last year to make him truly see her but all he wanted to do was lose himself in her bed for a while. There was part of him that cared though she was sure, because when he came to her on a Friday evening he paid for the whole night even though only stayed for an hour or two. He knew that it would mean that she could have time away from punters. He left enough money for fish and chips for her and the kids too which was sweet. The amount her sibs looked up to him was depressing: her brother wanted to be him (or at least a Peaky Blinder); and her sister was totally in love with him. It broke her heart.

She was working on her third gin when Johnny Shelby swaggered in all on his tod, expecting the paupers to fall back in awe. There was something in the air that night though which made him seem oddly vulnerable – some grumbling from Freddie's boys at the BSA maybe. With the instincts of a woman who lived on the edge of things Lizzie could feel the atmosphere change. She saw a few men at the bar square up when John got near them although he didn't seem to notice anything. Lizzie could remember when he was nothing but a snot-nosed kid running around barefooted in the dirt following her and Tommy like a little puppy. There was no way she was going to let anything happen to him tonight. Stalking up to the bar she slid her arm though his.

'Hello pet', she said loudly. He turned towards her in surprise, giving her a broad and surprisingly sweet smile of recognition. She leant in close and whispered softly into his ear. 'Whatever you do now don't contradict me. I'm sure you look better with your blood on the inside.' John's eyes narrowed as he finally noticed the sour atmosphere around him. She turned to the bar at large and shouted. 'A DRINK ON THE HOUSE FOR EVERYONE - BY ORDER OF THE PEAKY BLINDERS!'. There was a huge cheer and the threat of imminent violence dissipated. Resigned the barman began pulling pints.

'Don't let go now', Johnny said with a wink as they were jostled by dozens of men desperate to get hold of their free booze. 'The threat of a punch up always makes me hard!' Lizzie rolled her eyes but she couldn't suppress a grin.

They'd fucked in an alley. It was hard, and fast, and fun. He hadn't offered to pay. Instead he'd taken her to the pictures like they were courting. When he'd asked if he could take her out again she'd agreed. They began seeing each other regularly. She knew she should stop but she couldn't bring herself to give him up. A few months later he'd sweet talked her in to swapping life on the streets for life as a wife and mother.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Small Heath, 1920

For a little while Lizzie was able to convince herself that she could make marriage to John Shelby work. He was nice, kind even, and he seemed to want her for more than just what was between her legs – although like any man he was happy enough to have that too. She fantasised about living with him and raising his children. About being able to hold her head up in the street. Maybe they'd even fall in love eventually. As it was she was prepared to pretend almost anything to get off the game.

John knew what she'd been but he said he didn't care - he just wanted someone to share responsibility for the kids with. In return she'd promised him that she'd given up whoring. To tide her over he'd given her a little allowance. With the debts she had it wasn't enough but she was too frightened that he'd change his mind to say anything. Promising herself that she'd stop entirely after the wedding she continued to secretly see a few of her regulars in order to make ends meet.

Of all her regulars Tommy had been the first to go. She might have been a whore but taking money from her fiancé's brother was wrong in more ways than she could count. It took all her strength to give him up but she'd been buoyed up by John's proposal. Tommy had barely reacted when she'd told him that she couldn't see him anymore. Just nodded and said 'fair enough'. She'd managed to get home without crying but it had been a close run thing.

* * *

When Tommy'd tracked her down in the street near her house she couldn't hide a little thrill of happiness. For a second she hoped that he'd come to tell her that he couldn't live without her but it was clear from the cold look in his eyes that he was thinking any but. She'd been lugging food back to the house for the kids and had been grateful for his offer of a lift. Now she wished that she'd just carried on walking.

He'd pretended that he been happy for her and John but he'd been lying of course. No surprise there she wasn't exactly a catch. Then he kept pushing her on why she hadn't told John about Tommy and her. Did he think she was that cruel or that stupid?

'Now, Lizzie since I came back from France, I've come to you on many occasions', he'd said neutrally.

Jesus Tommy, you didn't tell him, did you?' She said horrified.

'No, I didn't tell him. Just like you didn't tell him. Now, why didn't you tell him, Lizzie? Why didn't you tell him that you'd been serving his brother for the past two years?'

Lizzie closed her eyes in despair. 'Because the past is the past', she said softly. 'He's a good man and I don't want to lose him.'

'That was the answer I was hoping you'd give - the past is the past. I like that.' He lit a fresh cigarette. 'You see our John says you've changed. And I believe him. And that's good. Change is good. These are new times I'm told and so I wish you both every happiness in your life together.'

Lizzie desperately wanted to believe him but the look in his eyes was hard and unforgiving. She sat frozen in her seat waiting for the axe to fall. When it landed it shattered her to pieces. He handed her a bundle of notes. It was more cash than she'd see in one place before. Enough to settle the worst of her debts.

'I want you to see this cash as my wedding gift to you', he said looking right at her. 'And our farewell to pleasures gone by.' He slipped one hand up under her skirt

'You mean you want one last go?' She said hollowly.

'One last go', he replied with a nod. 'You and me. You know how good it is.' His hand was between her thighs now, pushing them apart.

'Jesus Tommy… eight pounds? It's month's bloody wages!' She tried to wriggle away but it was half-hearted at best. One more time with Tommy. One more moment to add to her pathetic store of happy memories. It was so hard to resist. And she really needed the money.

'So, where shall we go?' He pressed, slipping two fingers insider her.

Lizzie couldn't fight him anymore. She didn't even want to. It was Tommy. Disgusted she knew now that she would always let him do whatever he wanted to her. She was as broken as he was.

'Shall we go to my place, Tommy?' she said helplessly, spreading her legs a little to allow him greater access.

'So, the past is not the past, it seems Lizzie', Tommy withdrew his hand. 'You can keep the money. Just get out of the car.' She looked at him in horror.

'Tommy, please. Don't do this.'

'Get out of the car', he said mercilessly.

'I love him, Tommy', she responded desperately.

'Really?' He sneered at her.

'Really!' But he knew as well as she did that that was a lie. He just didn't understand _why_ it was a lie or how desperate she was.

'John will make his own decision', he said coldly. 'But he will have the facts.'

Lizzie felt sick. All her hopes and dreams were falling to pieces and once again it was because she couldn't say no to Tommy Shelby.

'Your brother is ten times the man you are!' She said bitterly.

'Of that I have no doubt', he replied casually as if he hadn't just destroyed her only chance to escape the waking hell that was her life.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Small Heath, Summer 1921

Lizzie hated Tommy with every fibre of her being.

John had left her. No surprise there. She'd tried to front it out but he'd only gone and spoken to her idiot family. The stupid buggers had let it slip about her regulars and that was that. He'd been kind in his way - he hadn't insulted her or hit her - but he'd made his decision and had no qualms about walking away. Two days later she'd heard that he'd married a gypsy girl and averted some turf war with her family. It was a sensible match for him and part of her was happy that he'd found someone to make a life with – but she couldn't help being bitter about the way that things had fallen out. The uglier and more drunken the punter the more she blamed Tommy.

One thing that her almost escape had taught her was than she couldn't spend the rest of her life on her back. She'd seen an advert for a secretarial course. It cost serious money but she'd redoubled her efforts, going out day and night, and eventually she'd saved enough. It would be hard but if she worked at it perhaps she could make a better future for herself.

* * *

Tommy waited two months to call on her again. He'd turned up at The Marquis of Lorne one night whilst she was working up the enthusiasm to back out to work. She was so far down in drink that she hadn't noticed the hush that had fallen when he walked in. Nor had she heard him asking to sit down at her table – well not the first few times at least.

'Christ, Lizzie', he said thickly. 'What the hell's got in to you? If you go out like that you'll get in to all kinds of trouble.'

'Fuck off you spiteful bastard', she slurred back trying desperately to focus on his face - his beautiful, beautiful face. 'I had one chance and you had to flash your cash and ruin it for me. A month's wages, Tommy! Do you have any idea what I'd have had to do to earn that? How desperate I was?' Tears filled her eyes.

'Let me take you home, Lizzie', he cajoled.

'So I'm still good enough to be fucked by any Shelby with a hard on and a couple of shillings to spend then – what an honour - but actual marriage to one of the sainted brothers? Oh no, that's not for the likes of me.' She staggered to her feet grasping the edge of the table to keep her balance. 'I told you, you bastard, fuck off!' The next thing she knew the floor was heading up to meet her. Her recollection of events after that was patchy. She remembered being carried over a man's shoulder, then him stroking back her hair as she vomited everywhere - she had a fleeting sense of satisfaction when she remembered that she'd messed up his shoes – and then finally she was home.

The next morning she had woken feeling like death warmed up. There was a note from Tommy asking her to call at the Shelby Company Offices at 3pm that day. 'Enhanced rates paid for site visits' it said. She desperately wanted to refuse him but she knew she couldn't

Lizzie hated Tommy with every fibre of her being. But when he called for her she'd be right there because above all else she loved him too.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Small Heath, December 1921

Lizzie still didn't understand why Tommy insisted on only having sex with her in his office now. It was as if he was trying to flaunt what they were doing in front of John so that he could never forget that he had almost married a whore. Or perhaps his aim was to punish Lizzie by reminding her of what could have been hers? John and his wife Esme were happy, visibly so. In fact they could barely keep their hands off one another. Walking passed them, knowing that they knew why she was there, was humiliating. But humiliation was nothing new for her so she kept her head high and a smile on her face as she slinked her way through the offices trying to ignore the comments from the boys.

At least it meant that she still got to spend time with Tommy. Sometimes he was as cold as the grave when she called in - all business from start to finish. Other times he held on to her like his life depended on it. She could never tell what she was going to get. It confused her immensely but it charmed her too. She felt certain that somewhere, deep inside, he needed her. She just needed to get him to realise it.

There was one thing had definitely changed for the better over the last couple of years. Following the destruction and heartbreak caused by the firestorm that had been Grace Burgess, Polly Grey was starting to see Lizzie as a calming presence in Tommy's life – if not actually a positive one – and an asset to the Peaky Blinders. She sometimes unbent enough ask her to do small jobs for the business, sensitive things for which a woman's gentler presence was deemed more appropriate - or at least less likely to make things kick off.

Lizzie couldn't deny that the extra income from her side work for Polly was helpful. She'd put the money towards a typewriter that she's seen in a catalogue and she was practicing on it every chance she got; she was still determined to leave her present life behind. She hadn't though on what she would do about Tommy when she stopped whoring. She wasn't sure that he was something she could just walk away from so for now she was refusing to think about it.

Seeing her brand of typewriter in Tommy's office had confused Lizzie momentarily – it was as if two worlds had collided. They were rearranging their clothes after another session when she'd spotted it.

'I've got a typewriter like that', she said out of nowhere.

'You have?' Tommy seemed confused by the change of subject.

'Yeah - I'm learning to do it with my eyes shut', she replied. Catching his eye she said. 'Not that you dirty bugger – typing. It's a test you have to do to show that you can really type. It's part of a correspondence course I'm doing.'

Tommy nodded neutrally. Then he passed her over her usual fee. She looked up at him again, disappointed. She'd thought that for once they'd been having an actual conversation - one which didn't revolve around 'over the desk, up against the wall, right a bit, left a bit, harder' and all the usual crap. Every time she felt that they'd made a little bit of progress they went right back to the start. It was hard not to be bitter.

'I wish', she said softly. 'That just once, you wouldn't pay me, as if we were ordinary people.'

She might as well have been talking to a statue for all the response she got. She glared at him but his mind was already on his trip to London. She died a little inside.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Small Heath, January 1922

Lizzie Stark plastered a smile across her face as bright and brash as the lipstick she wore. She hated this bit. The sex could be unpleasant but she had got to the stage where she could separate her mind and her body. Whilst her body went through the motions her thoughts detached and went floating away up in to the clouds drifting over beautiful fields and lakes and rivers far away from the smog of Birmingham and the stench of whatever fat pig was pounding in to her. Sometimes it hurt to come back into herself.

More than the sex, however, what she really hated was walking into the Shelby Family's offices passed all the men and women that she knew and who in turn knew exactly what she was there to do. Well she was damned if she would let them see how much it hurt. Head held high she opened the door and entered the building. Putting an exaggerated roll in to her hips she sashayed her way through the press of people and headed for Tommy's office. The women ignored her – acknowledging a whore was beneath them - but men called out to her hooting their appreciation of her looks and enjoying the knowledge that she could be theirs for a handful of shillings.

'Here Lizzie', old Ben called over. 'I'm a bit brasso 'til pay day - any chance of a ride on the house? I know you can't get enough of me.' The lads standing with him sniggered. Lizzie's steps faltered.

Turning to him haughtily she said loudly. 'Even your wife insists on payment in advance before she'll lie with you, you old bastard. Why should I be any different?' Ben's friends were laughing openly now but at him rather than her.

Cat quiet, Polly came to join them. Nodding politely to Lizzie she turned to the men.

'Let Lizzie be about her business please gentlemen', she said coldly. 'She has enough hardships in her life without dealing with idiots like you so if I hear you disrespecting her again there will be trouble!'

'I was only chafing Lizzie', Ben said chastened. 'I didn't mean nothing by it.'

'Well see you don't do it again', Lizzie retorted sharply. She lit a cigarette and then resumed her trip to Tommy's office.

Tommy was sat at his desk when she entered the room. He jumped up and came to meet her.

'Hello Tom', she said softly. 'Where do you want me today?'

In response he took her gently by her free hand. 'Shut your eyes, Lizzie.' She looked at him in confusion. 'Trust me', he said neutrally. 'Close your eyes and come with me. Don't open them until I say.'

'What are you doing, Tom?' She asked bewildered as he pulled her gently across the room.

'Sit here, Lizzie', he said guiding her into a chair and resting one of her hands on the keyboard of the typewriter. 'Now, OK – type this. If wi…'

'What? Why? She opened her eyes and took a drag on her cigarette to hide her confusion.

'Look – put your cigarette down, close your eyes and get typing.'

'Right, OK', Lizzie said with a nod. This was a new one on her but it made a change from being bent over the desk so she was willing to go with it.

'If winter comes then can spring be far behind?' He continued.

'Did you say spring?' She said.

'Lizzie, what comes after winter?' He said rolling his eyes slightly. She finished typing and he reached out his hand. 'OK - Let's see it.' She pulled out the paper and handed it to him. 'That was a question so where's the question mark?' He said tapping the page. 'Put in the question mark.' He gave her the paper and she fed it carefully back into the machine and added the correct punctuation. She looked up at him expectantly. He gave her a slight smile.

'Now type this. "Wanted - secretary for expanding business".

'Slow down!' She squeaked, typing carefully.

"Must be able to take dictation and touch-type", he continued. "Five days a week. Eight pounds and four shillings a month. Must be able to start immediately."

Lizzie's head flew up and her eyes met Tommy's. He was smiling at her. It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

'Are you serious? Please tell me you're serious!' She didn't want to beg but this was too important.

'Things are starting to happen, Lizzie!' He said softly but in his own quiet way she could tell that he was as giddy as a child. 'And I need someone who can look the other way sometimes. You can stop the other work too'. He stared down at her intently, suddenly serious. 'All of it this time; no exceptions.' He stroked a finger down her cheek.

Lizzie grinned back at him, not put off at all. His enthusiasm was infectious. Even if she'd wanted to she couldn't have said no. Perhaps when he had had a bit of time to forget what she'd been they'd have a chance.

He pulled back and the moment passed. 'Eight o'clock, Monday morning, the upstairs office. Don't be late.'


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Small Heath, 1922

A brand new day.

A brand new life.

Lizzie practically skipped on her way to the Shelby Company offices. She felt… Well there were no words to truly describe it. Free, perhaps? Whole? Respectable? Whatever it was, she was the happiest that she had been since her father had put her on the game. To spend the whole day with Tommy, to have him look her in the eye, to have him talk to her as if she was a person rather than a means to an end, it was like a dream come true.

Arriving just before 8am she knocked on the outer door. Polly opened it a few moments later.

'Welcome Lizzie', she said formally, but there was a soft smile on her face. 'It's good to see you this morning. Let me show you to your desk.'

The desk was a miniature version of Tommy's and set up just outside his office door. Lizzie smiled as she ran her fingers over its polished surface then pressed down one of the keys on the typewriter. This was where she was meant to be. She placed her hat and coat on the stand by the door and then settled in to her chair adjusting the items on the desk to her preferred layout. When she was finished she posed, attentively, awaiting Tommy's arrival. It would not do for him to arrive and find her less than ready.

Thirty minutes later she was starting to feel uncomfortable. She went to find Polly.

'Do you know where Tommy is?' She asked tentatively. 'Or when he might arrive?'

Polly shook her head. 'He was late back from London last night but he should be in soon. Why don't I show you where everything is?'

Lizzie nodded. 'That would be helpful. I'd particularly like to know where the carbon copy paper is and the items for the typewriter.

'Or I could show you where the cash and the cocaine is stored?'

Lizzie smiled. 'I suppose that would be a start - although the location of the stationery would still be useful.'

Tommy finally arrived at 10:30am. By then Lizzie was sat with Polly and Esme in Tommy's office. Esme was well away – she was snorting coke like it was going out of fashion. Polly was sipping tea and whiskey. Lizzie, however, desperately trying to separate herself from her former life, was stone cold sober.

'Good morning, Mr Shelby', she said when she saw him. 'Can I get you a cup of tea?'

Taking In the three women before him he nodded. 'Aye - strong and black, Lizzie. Then come and take down a letter. Polly and Esme go home - you're a bloody disgrace!'

Thirty minutes later Tommy was sat comfortably in his office chair, sipping tea, and signing a letter that Lizzy had typed. They smiled at each other both happy with the turn that their relationship had taken.

Tommy took her hand. 'Remember, this is your only job now. No more whoring.'

Lizzie nodded happily. She had Tommy's trust now and she would not betray it. Not for anyone or anything.

Hi jmwatson - hope you enjoy this too.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 10

Small Heath January 1922

Working for the Shelby Company had been wonderful. Beyond anything she could imagine in fact. At the end of her first day Tommy had smiled at her and given her £5 and told her to buy herself some new clothes. Then he, and the rest of the family, had taken her off down to The Garrison to celebrate.

The evening was a bit of a blur. Tommy had taken a bottle of whiskey and a jug of gin from behind the bar and later some champagne had appeared from somewhere. Everyone had been happy and smiling. Even the lads who had chaffed at her before, like Old Ben, had been polite and friendly, and if anyone had said the word 'whore' it hadn't been in her hearing. She was fully under the Blinder's protection now. Whatever people in Small Heath thought of her past no one in the area would so much as look sideways at her from now on. For a little while she had even felt respectable again.

At some point Arthur had racked up a few lines of coke and encouraged her to do some. She'd taken a little bit of the stuff before but never so much. That night, after half a dozen fat lines, she had felt like the queen of the world. She remembered, with a slight lurch of her stomach, that she had been prevailed upon to stand on the bar and sing a song. She'd been so mashed that she'd forgotten both half the words and most of the tune but for some reason everyone present had laughed and cheered along. Was this a result of the genuine popularity of the Shelbys who kept a lot of the men in work, or just the fear they now induced in the population at large? Whatever it was she was not inclined to argue - let those that had spit at her feet when she'd passed by as a whore grovel for a while now she was a Shelby employee. If they didn't she'd find a way of getting her own back somehow.

* * *

Tuesday, sadly, was not a blur. She remembered every painful, hung-over moment of it. She'd dragged herself from her bed and, somehow, made it in to the office for 8am. Tommy, the bastard, had already been at his desk when she'd arrived, looking as fresh as a daisy (relatively, at least). He'd smiled at her and she'd growled back before fetching them both a cup of strong black tea.

'You look like you need that, Lizzy', he'd said neutrally, taking a swig.

'You don't, you bastard', she'd replied with a groan. 'The way I feel is all the fault of the Shelby brothers so I'll expect easy work today!'

Tommy gave her a grin which was halfway to malicious. 'Sorry Lizzy, we're busy today. I'm going to need your full attention.'

For about five seconds, Lizzy considered going back to being a whore – at least then she could crawl back in to bed.

* * *

She'd been working for Tommy for a few weeks when she'd truly come to understand just how murky some of his 'non-legitimate' business activities were – particularly the ones he kept half hidden from his family. Out of nowhere he told her that he was planning to kill a man at a local foundry on behalf of the IRA. He said it so offhandedly that at first she thought that he had let the story slip as a kind of test to see how she'd react but the moment she looked at him she knew that it was a good deal more than that. Despite the calmness of his voice he was drawing on his cigarette heavily and there was a look in his eyes which suggested that he was reliving a memory which he found unpleasant. It was clear that he found what he was about to do disturbing but he was nevertheless obliged to go through with it. She had never seen him so vulnerable and she reacted instinctively. Crossing the room she put her arms around him and he turned his face against her neck, sighing heavily. She stroked the back of his neck gently and rocked him against her, muttering the soft words of comfort she had once used on her younger brother and sister. Although she felt desperately sorry for the circumstances that Tommy found himself in she could not help but feel a slight thrill. He needed her, he really, really did!

* * *

Later that night, when the assassination was over, Tommy returned to the company offices bringing a bottle of whiskey with him. Lizzie had ostensibly been working late to prepare for a family meeting later in the week but in reality she had waited to see if he would need someone to talk to. Taking one look at him she knew that he did. Sitting next to him on the sofa in the meeting room she poured them both a drink. She passed Tommy his glass then took her own in her hand and curled back on the cushions next to him so that her head was resting snugly on his shoulder. He sat there rigid not even sipping at his drink.

'You can talk to me if you want, Tommy', she said simply. 'You can always talk to me. There'll be no condemnation, no judgement, just comfort. I promise.'

Lizzie felt him relax slightly then he bent down and pressed his lips gently against the top of her head. For a few moments he didn't speak then, as if he could no longer hold it inside, he told her everything: the blacksmith's look of surprise; his first cry of pain; the sound of the final breath leaving his body. It wasn't the first man Tommy had killed by any means but it was the first he had killed in cold blood and he was coming down from the adrenaline spike. Lizzie listened calmly. It was awful but did not even make the list of the top 20 awful things she had seen or heard since her father had put her on the game at 14. And even if it had been, this was Tommy. She felt slightly sick when she realised that she would accept almost anything to be part of his life.

She also had a horrible feeling that this was not the worst thing that she was going to have to face if she stood by him.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Small Heath, February 1922

They worked together well, the two of them. Tommy knew that he had Lizzie's absolute loyalty. In return Lizzie knew that there was some part of him that needed her for more than just her shorthand and typing. Even now though, after working together for months, he still seemed surprised by how quickly she had taken to honest work. Lizzie, however, had been an exceptional whore for one very good reason – well OK, perhaps more than one – but the principal reason had always been her ability to anticipate a man's needs before he even knew them himself. Thus, whether it was a fresh cup of tea, a meeting with the mayor, or an up to date list of bribes whatever Tommy wanted was waiting for him before he came to want it and he had rapidly come to rely on her.

Lizzie's favourite part of the job was taking dictation from Tommy. Being ensconced in his office, just the two of them, and listening to his calm measured tones as he outlined the dreams conjured up by his subtle mind was her idea of paradise. She typed out those plans in her slow deliberate key strokes occasionally throwing out questions that he never refused to answer – even if he occasionally rolled his eyes at the outlandish nature of some of them. Typing his letter to Churchill had been particularly exciting - imaging writing to a member of the government! She could see Tommy's mind working furiously as he dictated. The strength of his self-belief was unbelievably arousing.

* * *

 _"Dear Mr Churchill,_

 _I have been approached by an agent of the Crown to carry out a task, as yet unspecified. His name is Major Campbell and I believe he reports to you. Therefore, I decided to make direct contact with you to make sure that certain things are clearly understood._

 _In return for the tasks which will be requested of me I would be grateful if the Colonial Office would provide me with an Empire export licence covering India, the Malay Peninsula, Canada, and Russia in order that I may export certain manufactured goods from Birmingham via the Poplar Docks._

 _Mr Churchill, you should know that I am a former British soldier and, if you look at my war record, you will see that I fought bravely at Verdun and at the Somme. Also, you will see that my actions at Mons saved thousands of Allied lives._

 _I know that you resigned your ministerial position and the safety of an office to go and fight on the front line with the men. I read that you fought bravely, Mr Churchill. Therefore, I hope I will be treated in any dealings we have with a degree of respect, soldier to soldier. My demands are slight and my sacrifice in service of my country will no doubt once again be great._

 _Yours sincerely,_

 _Thomas Shelby - MM, DCM"_

* * *

Tommy had signed the letter with a flourish but then the smile had died from his face. In an instant he had gone somewhere far distant, somewhere deep below the earth. Lizzie knew that look. She had seen it on his face often enough since the war. In his head he was fighting off the memories of the dead and the dying. There was only one remedy that she could provide and even that was but a momentary distraction.

Without a word she placed a large glass of whiskey into his hand. He took it numbly, hardly seeming to see her. Then she knelt before him, unbuttoning his fly with a practiced hand, and reaching inside to take hold of his cock. Tommy stretched back in his chair, unprotesting, his eyes closing. They had been here so many times before that she needed no instructions. After a few minutes work she had applied her mouth instead. Tommy's breath came heavier and faster after that but the expression on his face was still cold and grim and it took all of her art to coax a true reaction from him.

'Over the desk, Lizzie', he said eventually. She complied and he took her roughly from behind, digging his fingers cruelly in to her hips. There was no love in it, no caring, just pure blinding need. When he was done he pulled her back up against him, burying his nose in her hair.

'I'm sorry, Lizzie', he said wretchedly. 'It was wrong of me to use you like that.'

But Lizzie was not sorry. There was no doubt in her mind that Tommy needed her and she was going to be with him in whatever way he wanted for as long as it took.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Small Heath, March 1922

Lizzie loved her new life.

She loved her work. She was good at it. Her typing was going from strength to strength and she had now passed two shorthand exams. The organiser of the correspondence course she was doing had sent her a certificate and a letter of congratulation. Not bad for a girl who had left school at 12 to start taking in other people's washing alongside her mom.

She loved getting up just before dawn to draw up the fire and make breakfast for her brother and sister having spent the previous evening reading in the easy chair next to the fire in the parlour or sharing a quick drink in the Garrison. And then, best of all, she would spend the night in her own bed, all alone - much more civilised than coming home in the early hours, reeking of booze and sweat and sex, and not being able to look the kids in the eye as they ate their fittle.

She loved sashaying down the street in her elegant new clothes as she made her way to the office, smart heels click-clacking along the pavement. She wore half the amount of makeup she had during her whoring days and twice the fabric. She could afford good stuff now too, outfits in rayon and silk, heavy with beading; not to mention matching everything, right down to the brassiere and step-in chemise. It felt good to have soft fabrics against her skin and even better not to have to wear the same outfit every day except Sunday.

She loved the way people greeted her in the street now – friendly, polite, or slightly wary depending on how close they were to the Shelbys. The best reactions came from the cantin' old besoms who used to watch her pass with by with their meaty arms folded tight over their scrawny chests and their mouths screwed up like cats' arseholes. She used to shuffle passed them with her head bowed in shame, cringing at their insults and spiteful glances. Now she stared them straight in the eye.

She loved facing down Maggie O'Shaughnessy in particular. The old woman was the ring-leader of the local good wives and she was a merciless bitch an' all. Maggie's man was one of Tommy's grooms though and he would do anything to keep on his boss's good side. When he'd found out that his wife was still insulting Lizzie in the street he had blacked her eye and threatened to do it again and again until she stopped. Since he'd never so much as raised his voice to her before, Maggie had been stunned. It hadn't taken more than three or four 'lessons' to make her mind her manners – and where Maggie went the other women followed. Lizzie had been at the receiving end of plenty of men's fists in her time and it was usually something which she abhorred but Maggie was a bitch. The woman had once beaten her own daughter so hard when she found out that she was stepping out with a protestant lad that the girl had lost the hearing in her right ear so on this occasion Lizzie was prepared to make an exception. Since then the worst she'd got from the old women was a few curt nods and their grudging acceptance. She would never fit in to their narrow world, she didn't want to, but still it felt like a victory.

She loved having female friends, actual honest-to-god female friends. Polly had always been good to her but she'd also palled up with a couple of the cashiers from the betting shop too and they went to the pictures together sometimes or to the public baths on women's day. The one that really surprised her was Esme. She had not only been welcoming and friendly, she had actually encouraged Lizzie to become part of the extended Shelby family and never shied away from including her in either conversations or familial activities.

Lizzie had never thought that they would get on. How could they with the way things had been between Lizzie and John? Her previous experiences suggested that the wife of a former client would be defensive around her, hostile even. Even Wizz Bang's 'widow' was cold towards her despite all Lizzie had done to keep their family together. But Esme knew what it was to be looked down on and scorned for something that was not of her choosing – and she would not do the same to Lizzie. Gradually they began to share jokes and then confidences about their relationships with the Shelby men. It gave Lizzie something that she had never experienced before – a sense of belonging. And that was what she loved the most.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

June 1922, Epsom

How simple it was to move from love to hate, Lizzie thought. I've been with all kinds of men, drunk, sober, attractive, ugly, boring, frightening. And now, looking like I do, I could invite any man, no matter how rich or educated, into my bed. But not Tommy, not Tommy ever again.

He'd made her promise to give up whoring. Made her swear it on everything she held dear, even as he continued to take advantage of the feelings she had for him. Then Grace had come back. The nasty two-faced Irish bitch had come waltzing back from America with a rich husband on her arm, pretending she was here to see a doctor so she could have the poor bastard's baby. And Tommy had dropped everything for her. Everything, including Lizzie. And now he wanted Lizzie to whore for him. She didn't think that she had ever felt so low, so utterly worthless.

* * *

Epsom was buzzing. The race day crowds were chatting happily all around her, and the stink of alcohol and tobacco was all-pervasive. But Lizzie felt totally apart from it like she was watching everything through a fog. How could everyone be so happy when her world had fallen apart? It seemed unreal somehow.

Tommy had looked at her blankly when she'd asked him for chalk but he'd had some on him like any good bookie. She'd written her price on the sole of one of her shoes. Just like the old days – except that she'd upped the figure considerably to something that a mark like the one Tommy had picked out would find appealing – nothing too cheap for a man of his rank. She'd felt sick then. Bitter acid had boiled up from her stomach as she'd contemplated what she had to do; what that Shelby bastard had forced her in to do.

* * *

Rape was an occupational hazard for whores but she had though that she was passed all that. She had believed whole-heartedly that Tommy had rescued her from that life when he had made her his secretary. Now when a man approached her it was because he wanted an introduction to her boss rather than an hour in her bed and he minded his manners accordingly. The change in her status had pleased her greatly and everything Tommy had done since he had employed her – at least until the bitch had come back - had convinced her that she had value to him as a human being. Sadly, her encounter with Field Marshal Russell proved her very, very wrong. Tommy had promised to protect her and stop the sex with Russell before it started but he had failed her. Rather than protecting her, he had been diverted by dealing with Grace's 'miraculous' pregnancy.

Lizzie had sat with John afterwards in the bar, conflicting feelings coursing through her. She had tried to protect herself from Russell; tried to resist him; tried to put him off but all the man had wanted to do was get what he had paid for. By the time Tommy arrived, he'd forced his way roughly inside her. She could feel the blood from the violation soaking into her knickers. She hoped that it wouldn't show through her dress – that would be one humiliation too far. She shifted awkwardly in her seat, trying not to let her discomfort show on her face. Tommy had killed the man but the sense of betrayal was acute. Somehow this was worse than all the other times she'd been taken advantage of.

* * *

John had been a real comfort that that afternoon. He was a different proposition entirely from his cold-hearted elder brother; a fundamentally good man who loved with an open heart even if he couldn't keep his flies buttoned. After the end of their ridiculous engagement she hadn't expected kindness and friendship from him but he had given it to her anyway. And today had been no exception. When they met up at the bar he had clearly seen her distress. He took her hand in his and looked at her intently as if he was trying to read her mind. Then he huffed in disappointment.

'Fuck, Lizzie – you've been working! I know that there's rich pickings here but racing men are bastards and you know what Tommy said would happen if you took to whoring again.'

Stung Lizzie didn't bother denying it. 'I was working, but I was working for Tommy. The same as all of us.' She couldn't help but sound angry.

John looked at her in confusion but gradually comprehension dawned; then he just looked sick. The Irish business had been a nightmare for all of them. 'I'm sorry. Are you hurt?'

Lizzie didn't answer at first but she gripped his hand fiercely and bit her lip. When she finally spoke, there was no mistaking the distress in her voice.

'Oh John… I don't see the same thing in your eyes that I see in Tommy's. You should get out. You should get out, now. Please!'

Lizzie saw his eyes widen in understanding but then word came that the Peaky Blinders had sent Sabini away with a flea in his ear.

'We're the kings of the world, Lizzie,' John roared. 'We're the kings of the fucking world.'

She'd lost him. Worse - she had lost all hope.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

The position of Thomas Shelby's personal secretary was a privileged one. Tommy had told her when he offered her the job that he needed someone who knew when to look the other way and so it had proved. He told her things which he shared with no one else and he trusted her to keep them secret. In some ways she had come to know his mind more intimately than anyone else and that had allowed her to also have an insight into his fears and his insecurities.

Even though it sat awkwardly with her, there were things that Lizzie knew by virtue of her position which were secret even from Polly and she had sworn to herself that it would take bloody torture to make her reveal them. But with Grace back in Tommy's life, Lizzie felt cut off from him; hopelessly lost and adrift. And there was one secret that she was completely unable to keep hidden.

Polly had gone ballistic when she found out about the baby, and there had been a few choice Gypsy curses spoken that evening - some of which had been new even to Esme. Polly's outrage, combined with that of a righteously angry Esme, had warmed Lizzie to the marrow. When the three drunken women had finally managed to contact Tommy's sister Ada her response had been only slightly less vituperative and that was only it was mitigated by the fact that she disapproved so thoroughly of Tommy's own actions. In fact, Ada had been heartily peeved to learn that Tommy had used her house in London for the initial assignation.

Polly, Esme, and Lizzie emerged from that evening distressingly hung over but united in the face of Tommy's duplicitous Irish whore. With relief, Lizzie knew that there was no longer any doubt about her status as an inner member of the Shelby family circle; no question but she truly belonged.

Female friendships where something of an enigma to Lizzie. Perhaps unsurprisingly, 'nice' women never wanted much to do with someone who had been in Lizzie's line of work - especially the wives of the men she had serviced which, in Small Heath, meant pretty much every man with a few shillings to spare. The girls she had worked the streets with had watched each other's backs but it was not a life that encouraged the sharing of confidences. Their histories were almost uniformly grim and they were usually too exhausted to do more than share a bottle of gin or warnings about men who were a bit handy with their fists. Female companionship had therefore been rare.

She had made a few acquaintances amongst the cashiers early in her time with the Shelby Company but it had soon become apparent that they were only interested in what she could tell them about the family, or how they could use her to improve their own positions. Disappointed but unsurprised, she had soon learned to distance herself. Other than that brief foray in to the world of the sisterhood, she had never really had any female friends, or at least not since she was very young.

Grace's pregnancy had changed all that. For the Shelby women, Lizzie became the devil they knew – familiar, reliable, and, above all, trustworthy when it came to Tommy and the family's best interests. If anyone would be able to tempt Tommy back into the fold, they believed it would be Lizzie.

Although she felt the benefits of the change, Lizzie also found it unsettling. Particularly the new-found closeness with Esme. The Gypsy woman had always been surprisingly welcoming but this was at a wholly new level. On one occasion the two young women had got drunk together and Lizzie had begged Esme for an explanation. Esme's reply had both warmed and saddened her.

'We're both outsiders here', Esme had said. 'We can love them all we want but we will never truly be a Shelby. If we want to protect our men then we need someone to watch our backs. I'll do that for you, if you do that for me.'

Lizzie had agreed instantly. Aside from her intense feelings for Tommy, she knew that she could not bear the idea of John being hurt, not after coming so close to becoming his wife. The two women spat on their palms and shook on it. They never spoke of it again but Lizzie could feel the weight of the promise in her heart whenever she saw Tommy or John or met Esme's eye.

* * *

Tommy came and went like ghost over the next few months. He took a room at the Ritz which he used to entertain Grace whenever she found an excuse to get away from her husband. Although this was seldom enough for him. Fretful and unhappy, he stopped sleeping, he stopped eating. His focus drifted from his work so frequently that both friends and rivals started to ask fleeting questions about his commitment. But through it all, Polly, Esme, and Lizzie moved like perfectly positioned chess pieces. A word here, a nod there, the occasional favour for a friend. Whatever was needed to head off disaster, the three women provided, without Tommy even needing to be made aware.

And then, as suddenly as she had arrived, Grace was gone. Disappearing off to America with her exceptionally rich husband in tow and leaving behind her the usual wasteland of broken hearts and broken dreams, she vanished without so much as a backward glance. No one – except perhaps Tommy – felt any surprise at all.

For the first time in ages Lizzie allowed herself to smile.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Angel Changretta was a guilty pleasure.

He was plump and plain but darkly sleek, with glossy black hair and a wicked smile. He reminded her of an otter that she'd once seen making its merry way down the oil-slicked water of the cut down by Charlie's yard. But he wasn't an otter. For all his pretty name and his glittering eyes, Angel had an air of danger about him. Lizzie had sniffed it on him right away when she'd seen him in the table in the VIP booth at the Palais. Even in the dim lighting she'd recognised the aura of a gangster, clocked his expensive suit, seen the number of men he'd had around him wielding guns, the pretty women hanging on his every word. It was familiar, comforting somehow. Men like him were home to her.

Feigning disinterest, she lounged against the pillar nearest the VIP area smoothing her slick curls back into place and making a pretence of surveying the room. It wasn't long before her slender body and haughty good looks attracted one of Angel's men. She was invited to join him in his booth. It was only when he introduced himself that she realised exactly who it was. She felt a shiver of attraction followed by a twinge of guilt. Bollocks to you Tommy Shelby, she thought. All these years and you never gave a damn. Why should I?

She was handed a glass of champagne. Years of working for the Shelbys meant that she was well used to drinking bubbly. It made her burp and gave her an unpleasant hangover but still… she could pretend to appreciate it. She sipped delicately and smiled. Angel wasn't fooled thought.

'I don't like this French shit either', he drawled. He'd spent time in America and he loved to show it off when he talked. 'What d'ya wanna drink instead?' He leant forward and stroked his fingers along her collarbone.

Lizzie cocked back her head and relaxed against the buttery soft leather of the booth, feeling exultant. She knew she had him. 'Why don't we take a bottle of whisky back to your place?'

His fingers ceased their slow movement. For a moment she thought that she'd gone to far, but then he laughed.

'For sure, honey. Let's go back to my place. You and I can have a party.'

* * *

It was an interesting night. Angel had taken her in a chauffeur driven car to the Burlington Hotel right in the centre of town. The night manager had been reluctant to let them in but a thick wodge of cash had soon bought his silence and he'd shown them up to a luxurious suite. It was all marble, wood, and plush fabrics. Even the glasses were high-end crystal with golden rims. Lizzie hadn't seen anything like it before, not even at Arrow House.

They hadn't talked much when they got there - two drinks and they'd got right down to it. He didn't have John's pure joy in the act of sex, nor did he have Tommy's single-minded focus or his knowledge of her body, but he'd got the job done. Then he'd called room service and fed her fish eggs (which she hadn't liked much), steak Bordelaise with green beans (which she had) and half a bottle single malt. Eventually they'd crawled under the sheets and drifted off to sleep.

She'd woken with his arms wrapped protectively around her and his face nuzzled in the crook of her neck. She'd felt warm and safe and she'd luxuriated in it for a moment, wriggling back against his rounded body. Then she had slipped smoothly from between the sheets and taken herself off to have a long, luxurious bath in the biggest tub she'd ever seen, leaving Angel to sleep off his hangover. Wreathed in steam and with her head relaxed back against the rim of the bath she knew that this was the closest to heaven she'd ever been.

When she went back in to the bedroom, naked and sweetly scented from the bath, Angel was awake and waiting for her, slicked hair ruffled from sleep and a lazy smile on his pudgy face. Rising from the bed like a king ascending from this throne he had stalked towards her, his cock sticking out like a poker. A few feet away from her he'd stopped and given her his best attempt at a Valentino smile which showed off his fine white teeth. They'd stared intently at each other for a moment then collapsed into laughter. The sex was better this time. They were both sober and his pride made him a quick learner. They'd ordered breakfast in the room, then lunch, then dinner. They hadn't left until late morning the following day and by then they had made plans for a weekend away.

It wasn't even an approximation of real love, but Lizzie was fairly certain that it was the best she was ever going to get.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Lizzie had never been a spendthrift. Now she was earning a decent regular wage with the Shelbys she dressed well and occasionally treated herself to a trip to the pictures or something nicer to drink than bathtub gin but, when it came down to it, she'd had had far too much responsibility far too young to ever feel comfortable wasting money on fripperies. With Angel she came as close as she ever had to being frivolous.

Once you got passed the arrogant facade, her new lover was surprisingly good fun. It wasn't just drinking, and china, and sex – although there was certainly plenty of that. They listened to music and went dancing, laid around reading books and magazines, and played endless rounds of cards, shopped for new clothes and took overnight trips. Angel treated her like a princess, spoiling her whenever she let him.

'You're too good for this place, honey', he would say with a complacent smile. 'I'm gonna take you to California. We'll get a coffee at The Blue Front on Hollywood Boulevard and hang out with all the movie stars. You're so pretty, you're gonna fit right in. I bet you'll get yourself an agent the moment we walk in.'

Lizzie would laugh and roll her eyes at his foolishness. She knew their relationship would never last. Eventually the truth would come out but she could at least enjoy a few weekends with him in Manchester or Liverpool before the end came. And it would surely come soon. She'd worked out who he was the moment he'd introduced himself at the Palais but he still seemed completely in the dark about her and her relationship to the Shelbys. In all fairness, Elizabeth wasn't as unusual a name as Angel – but someone was bound to recognise her eventually and let it slip.

In the end, Lizzie had three months of happiness. Twelve whole weeks of laughter, and fun, and freedom which she somehow managed to fit in around her work for the Shelby family. And then it all came crashing down. It was hard to have secrets in such a close-knit world but she did her best to keep the two parts of her life rigidly separate and, in the end, it was simple coincidence that gave her away.

Angel and Lizzie were having dinner one night at his family's restaurant in Nechells. It was the first time Angel had taken her so close to home, and the first time he had tried to introduce her to his family history and culture. They were sat in his family's private dining area – a raised platform with a huge round table surrounded by large padded benches and upholstered chairs, and with dozens of photos of family and friends plastered on the walls. With Angel by her side Lizzie felt at once on show and protected but there was no doubting that this was a Changretta family stronghold and she knew that she should be on her guard.

Angel was feeding her forkfuls of caponata and busiate al pesto trapanese, all the while topping up her glass with an endless stream of fruity red wine. It was a raw but promising vintage which his father had had imported directly from the family's village in Sicily. In the corner, a fiddler was quietly playing Italian folk songs and melodies from famous operas – Lizzie felt quietly smug that she recognised one or two.

Angel chatted away happily, more relaxed now he was on home turf. He took time to explain the history of the dishes he had ordered, he told her how his parents had met and how they had come to Birmingham, he even laid out his ambitious plans for the family. But best of all, he sought her opinion on every facet of it and truly listened to her responses. With every question, with every keen look, and with every thoughtful response he warmed Lizzie's frozen heart a little bit more.

The only time anyone had ever tried to really talk to her like this before was Tommy when they were kids, before everything had gone bad. Getting it back made her feel… well not innocent exactly – she was certain that nothing could do that for her now – but certainly younger and less jaded. They had the best table, the best service, the best wine; she was loving every minute. And then his parents arrived.

Lizzie recognised Audrey Changretta immediately. Apart from a few fine lines around the eyes and mouth, and a touch of grey in her curls, the woman had hardly changed since she had first taught Lizzie her ABCs. The couple made their way between the tables to join their son and his date, pausing only to exchange warm greetings with some of the diners and hand their coats to the attentive staff.

Angel leapt to his feet the moment that his parents reached the table. Lizzie stood up too, a fixed smile plastered across her face. She desperately wanted to run away but she was trapped against the banquette. Angel took her hand in his, squeezing it encouragingly.

'Mamma, papà, please allow me to introduce Miss Elizabeth Stark. Lizzie honey, these are my parents.'

Audrey Changretta met Lizzie's eye and her delicate brows rose up to meet her hair-line. For a moment surprise seemed to freeze her in place and then her natural good manners took over. Lizzie offered no resistance as her old teacher gave her a gentle peck. The Angel's father embraced her warmly, kissed her roundly on both cheeks and loudly demanded that she called him Vincente.

They made desultory conversation for a short while but when old man Changretta appeared ready to join them for drinks and coffee his wife persuaded him to leave the younger couple to finish their meal in peace. As soon as they disappeared from view Lizzie settled back in to her seat with a sigh of relief. Maybe everything would be alright.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

It's not fair!

It was the perennial cry of children throughout the ages. But Lizzie wasn't a child and, as much as she would have liked to have stamped her feet, the heels she was wearing were far too nice. Tommy was getting married today. To another woman. To a woman who had betrayed him and nearly got him arrested and worse. To a woman that had driven her own husband to suicide. Tommy was marrying Grace and it wasn't fair.

She remembered the last time she had spoken to Grace – actually exchanged words rather than spiteful glances. It had been the day of the Blinder's victory at the Epsom races. They'd bumped into each other at The Garrison when everyone was celebrating the fact that the Blinders had kicked Sabini's arse. She'd managed to keep away from her for most of the evening but her luck had run out eventually.

Everyone had got roaring drunk, and an uncommonly jovial Arthur had agreed to let the women use the flush toilet in the back office rather than run out to the privy yard. Lizzie had come out sniffing and wiping away the last traces of cocaine and run slap bang in to Grace.

Grace had looked down her long elegant nose at her and her nostrils had flared as if they'd encountered a particularly disgusting stench.

'I'm taking care of him now', the blond said coldly. 'So, he's not going to need a whore on the payroll anymore.'

Lizzie could feel the bile rising in her throat but she'd had enough gin and china to be bolshie.

'You might feel like you've just whipped him over the finish line but know this', Lizzie said as she pushed Grace roughly back against the wall, causing the other woman to quiver slightly in fear. 'Every time to take him out on the gallops, you'd better remember that it was me who broke him to the saddle in the first place!' With that she'd turned rather unsteadily on her heels and made her way back to the party.

30 minutes later she had tottered out of the pub on the arm of a smugly grinning Isaiah Jesus. They went back to her place. Well, they could hardly go back to his. His father might turn a blind eye to Blinders business thanks to his connection with Tommy but he was still a priest when all was said and done. Fornication involving his own son and a former whore was probably something he couldn't overlook when it took place under his own roof.

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur, but Isaiah had been sweetly grateful in the morning so it must have gone alright. With the resilience of youth, he had woken her up in the early hours by pressing a massive erection against her arse cheeks and having a tentative grope at her tits. Biting down on a ferocious hangover she had joined in with a will. Anything to stop herself thinking about Tommy and that fucking, two-faced Irish bitch!

* * *

And now Tommy and Grace's wedding day was finally here. The family had invited her properly, with an embossed card sent to her home, so she could hardly refuse. Not that she could have born to be elsewhere, to miss that last chance to remind him what he was giving up.

Sadly, she couldn't even bring herself to bring a guest to keep her company - not that Angel would have been welcome. Polly had, with surprising gentleness, made perfectly clear.

* * *

The wedding itself was beautiful. A whole high-end florist's warehouse had been picked clean in order to fill the church with fresh flowers. Elegantly designed floral arrangements now filled the air with a heady mix of sweet and spicy scents that were strong enough to cover up the whiskey and brandy of which the male half the congregation had liberally imbibed prior to the service.

At the altar rail, the groom had cut a tense but dashing figure in his new suit, flanked protectively by his elder brother Arthur. Nervous stress having burnt the flesh from his body, his chiselled face was more compelling than Lizzie had ever before seen it. The urge to reach out and touch him had been almost irresistible.

The bride herself had looked exquisite (damn the bitch); the charcoal grey of her widow's veil had thrown her pallid beauty into delicate relief. The local goodwives had clucked over her like she was a princess rather than the treacherous bitch she was especially when she laid flowers in the lady chapel before the statue of blessed Mary. Lizzie contented herself with rolling her eyes. She always lit her candle to the Magdalene.

The only clue that all was not well was Polly's small, tight smile, hidden, as far as it could be, beneath the brim of her fashionable hat. It was a smile so brittle that it seemed that so much as the slightest word or gesture could shatter it.

After the vows, despair overwhelmed her and Lizzie could not help but cry. Polly had not cried, but instead her smile had turned to a grimace, and she had taken Lizzie's hand in a death grip.

Then later, after the service, the wedding party were obliged to make the long journey back to Arrow House where a drink-fuelled party had been laid on for a volatile mix of Irish gipsies and British Army officers. Women from both sides of the aisle had reached a truce during the pre-ceremony photographs and had vowed to work together do what it took to make the day run smoothly but there was no doubt that they were faced with a stiff task once they returned to the main house.

After the ceremony, Lizzie had fortified herself with as much alcohol as she dared from Arthur and John's hip flasks but, even with the youngest to the eldest of the female guests on both side of the divide alert for trouble, she knew that It was going to be a long night. She longed to be hidden away and safe with Angel.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

August 1924

The church was filled with flowers once again. Lilies this time. Their heady scent mixed uneasily with the memory of years of incense and the whiskey that laid heavily on the congregation's breath. It made Lizzie's stomach turn.

The guest of honour was lying in state in the transept. Dressed like a princess in a confection of silk and lace, she was receiving petitions from her dutiful subjects under the unseeing eye of Thomas Shelby. Her coffin was lined with satin, and jewels glistened at her fingers, ears and throat.

Gazing down at all this pointless waste, Lizzie's stomach roiled again. She could have fed her family for a year for the cost of a single one of Grace's gems. Even though the woman had had no say over her own burial wear, Lizzie's dislike of her intensified. She had poisoned everything she touched. Tears pricked at Lizzie's eyes.

Walking slowly back to her pew, Lizzie forced herself to look over at Tommy. He sat immobile, his eyes unfocussed and his haggard face as cold and fixed as a death mask. Sat next to him, Polly was showing scarcely more emotion but she held on tightly to Charlie, who was playing contentedly with a small toy horse.

Lizzie found herself tucked in alongside Michael and Isaiah Jesus in the row behind John, Esme and their pack of children. Whilst the two men next to her shuffled awkwardly and muttered to each other in an undertone, those in the row in front were silent. All of them were sitting as still as statues and gazing fixedly towards Jeremiah Jesus who was waiting to begin the service. Even the littlest ones were huddled against the adults, cowed by the oppressive atmosphere.

Looking at Tommy's rigid back, Lizzie felt a little sick. She didn't feel any personal guilt over the situation, not really. She'd only ever wanted a scrap of happiness for herself. Surely, she deserved that after all the years of pain and humiliation? Surely, if there was any guilt in it, then it had to lie with Arthur and John? They had taken their masculine pride out on Angel and caused a blood feud, after all. She felt the tears well up again.

The service dragged onwards. The hymns and readings passed off well enough – although one of her American friends had chosen Amazing Grace which most of the congregation not known - but the eulogy had been excruciating.

Jeremiah Jesus had done his best to include some happy and heart-warming moments from Grace's life but the woman was an orphan who had driven her first husband to suicide and alienated almost all of the people that she knew through her past, or recent, behaviour. The one bright spot in her life had been her son – and given that Tommy could not be acknowledged as his father that was a rather awkward topic to probe in detail.

The committal had come as something of a relief and the least said about the wake that followed the better.


End file.
